tickity-tock, dickity dock
by corkchop
Summary: they always said he was a fool, first his brother, then the whole branch, and finally the entire cahill branch themselves. too bad they didn't get to see him rule the world after all.


_Tick tock, Cahill Clocks_

**A/N: Thank you for coming here to read this one-shot! Not cliché at all, I assure you. Please be sure to check out my new warriors/39 clues crossover! Dedicated to my fans who like insanity. :3**

"The time will soon be ripe to unleash you, my sweets," purred Bae Oh as he lovingly traced his calloused fingers over Dan Cahill`s petrified bronze flesh.

The workshop lanterns supported by rusty chain-link ropes swung gently, bro/adcasting their dim lights to the world below them. Above, the naked warehouse ceiling revealed a musty ventilation system of pipes giving the room a haunting effect. The building was colossal; it could fit a couple hundred people easily.

_Especially motionless people_.  
"Almost finished," he cooed rhythmically, "Almost done."

He was dominated by the looks of it, a uniform line crowd, completely still. At a closer peek, they appeared to be dipped in starch, hardened. Their characteristics were vividly different; some possessed hair various shades of walnut brown, sandy blond, auburn as the yolk of a sunset, and obsidian black. The eye colors too came in many pigments. But all had dully gleaming copper skin.

These were the Cahills.

Oh, it had taken many years, a tedious and perilous task molded only for the right sort of man. An Ekaterina, that sort of caliber. Many close encounters and near-death experiences made him want to vanquish even more. It was almost time to unleash his fury at the world around him. Bae treaded softly around the room, pausing occasionally to fix a flaw.

"My dear Cahill kin," he crowed, "You all wanted to be the rulers of the world, no? You have been awarded with the opportunity of a lifetime, it actually cost you a life, by the way. You will be assisting me to rule the world! Just what all you wanted!"

All the other Cahills had the wrong plans of ruling the world. Isabel Kabra, for instance, relied too much on trickery and her own wits. The Holts, too bone-headed and steroid obsessed to win. They had all failed to see the big picture, the whole enchilada, or burrito, his queer nephew would say. The real power rested in machinery if perfectly oiled. And if the ingredients were correct. The two necessary elements. He, Bae Oh, the overlooked competitor, would rule the world!

The world outside was a burning desert placed into the middle of Africa, not plotted on maps, and unreachable because of the heat. No one could find it, like they would actually seek out a structure such as this. To the few passersby, this was the beloved Oh Burrito Co. His brother would not mind, since he was dead. The temperature within was actually quite cool and pleasant, due to the high-tech engineering plan. It had to be, during the early stages of changing the Cahills . . . into automatons.

Glancing around, Bae extracted a greyish remote from his custom Persian trousers pocket. The mentioned was complex, adorned with a bouquet of buttons all shapes and sizes. An antenna protruded from the crest, easily retractable. It looked a tad primitive at first sight, but was actually human kind`s best and most horrifying weapon. He pressed a few buttons, muttering some unintelligible words.

For a moment, nothing spectacular happened. That's when the end of the world occurred.

The Cahill`s suddenly hummed to life, radiating a pulse of alien energy across the room. The eyes, morphed into an artificial electric blue, studying the room with cold calculation. The skin glowed a radiant golden bronze, heating up.

Bae danced around the room, happy for the first time in thirty long years. "Let's go, my children, it is the moment we have all been waiting for!"

He slid a bulletproof, bomb proof, indestructible attire over all the demented clockworks as a mother does to a beloved child, cackling. The once-human machines marched out of the warehouse in a perfect line, their machinery within visible through the exoskeleton. The Tomas in front, with Eisenhower leading the way with his bulky frame. Madrigals second in the quad, their mouths seemed to be upturned in cruel sneers. Lucians emerged from the smoky garage, the arms resting multiple toxic guns. Calculating and being the backup, his home branch cuddled complex machines. The wires inside danced with barely-contained energy, sparks leaping and gears clicking like the pinchers of a maddened scorpion.

Bae started laughing madly, never ceasing.

It was time to conquer.

**A/N: Review, and thanks for reading it all the way through!**


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